


where i don't belong

by ClassicDazel



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Confessions, Light Angst, Living Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, can i get uhhh some fuckin' tags, first time writing angst goes wrong, s10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-19 10:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15508134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassicDazel/pseuds/ClassicDazel
Summary: "At least we will still be together, that's good."Doc chokes on the knot of his throat. "Yes."For how long?is the question he doesn't dare to ask outloud.





	where i don't belong

**Author's Note:**

> me, watching on instagram my friends' pictures on the beach living literally in the hottest part of my country while i'm injured at home with air conditioner and fresh drinks reading and writing and playing videogames being the only thing i can do: this is so sad alexa play despacito.

Doc stares at his hand with the simple indifference he usually stares at it. On dark skin, dispersed purple stains along the circles of dry blood on his knuckles and several crimson cuts form a strange and bizarre picture. The harsh pain when he tries to close his fist is enough for him not to want to try that again. He still has the marks of his fingernails on his palm. Surely, he didn't stop until long after blood had glushed. He puts his hand under the cold water of the sink tap, sighing out of pain, relief and exhaustion as the dirt and blood are washed away. Couldn't he have used the right hand? Now he won't be able to write for weeks. (Not that the medic writes a lot lately, but he would like to have the possibility).

Donut doesn't ask about his wounded hand as they eat breakfast, and Doc does his bit by trying to pretend it is not such a big deal, despite being sure it is broken. For now they can enjoy toasts with hummus and tomato, but when they run out of the supplies of the bases they will have to make do with their little orchard which, so far, is coming to fruition.

"Well, how are you feeling today?" is the first thing Doc asks after his first bite. Actually, lately those are his first words of the day.

Donut's face lightens up as he grins. "Wonderfully! Since I do those breathing exercise you recommended, I feel like the wound is healing a lot faster." 

"I'm glad."

And he can say that with sincerity — he is very glad. Being in a war, one would suppose bullet wounds are a medic's bread and butter, and they would be right. And yet, when Doc arrived to Valhalla and saw Donut lying on the ground, with a bullet on his chest, barely alive thanks to his armor's healing unit... his mind went completely blank. It was so different from when he saw him for the first time and confirmed his death, when everything was too chaotic to even begin to assimilate what was happening. Suddenly he was a child again — scared, confused and helpless as he saw his little brother's life escaping before his eyes, holding his cold body and wondering again and again what to do, what he should have done, what was he going to do now.

_Save him._

That is what he promised Deke, right? Save lives whenever he could. This time he was not an useless child, he was an adult with medical training; and if there was the slightest chance of saving Donut, he was going to do it. 

The small acts of gratitude and the smiles with which Donut constantly thanks him by all odds make all that time the medic spent without sleep, uncertain of whether the soldier would wake up or not, worth it. All the time he spends he spends with Donut is worth it, from his cheerful songs in the morning to his surprise hugs at any time of day.

"Hey," Donut's soft voice gets him out of the trance, "do you ever think about what will we do after this?"

"What do you mean?" Doc inquires, bowing an eyebrow.

Donut shifts on his seat and clears his throat. "No, don't get me wrong. What we have now —this— is amazing. I wish it would last for a long time—"

"So do I," Doc comments almost unconsciously. He purses his lips into a thin line when Donut gives him that commiseration look from which it seems that he can never run away. He makes a small gesture with his good hand to give Donut a lift to continue.

"But we both know the others will come back eventually, for some reason or another," Donut's voice goes down a few tones, "and maybe I will not have the option to choose between going or not going with them." He chuckles bitterly. "I almost hear Sarge now; _no man of mine will be AWOL, now get your buttocks over here!_ " That impression of Sarge is so, so bad it makes Doc burst out in laughter. Damn Donut, for being able of making him laugh, even when he doesn't want to, even when he knows this is just another thing he will miss with all his heart. Donut sighs almost dramatically and throws his head back. "At least we will still be together, that's good."

Doc chokes on the knot of his throat. "Yes."

_For how long?_ is the question he doesn't dare to ask outloud.

 

 

Valhalla has a fresh and invigorating air. It rocks and rustles the grass, and you can practically smell how everything is calm. It is a nice change from Blood Gulch, where every day the dry sun shone in all its splendor and never hid.

Here there is no night either —the most darkness they have is when there are storm clouds—, but Donut and Doc have managed to follow the schedule they have on Earth. Is Doc the one who insists on sleeping in separate bedrooms, despite the intimate closeness they share. He exposed a large number of reasons: «I snore, and I would bother you»; «I don't want to kick you all night long»; «it would be too hot»; «I don't think I can sleep smelling that peach cream all the time». It hurts to lie to Donut like that, and it hurts even more than he resigns himself and never throws those stupid excusses in Doc's face.

It has been years since Doc doesn't have a normal dream like the ones he used to have. Not even nightmares. Dreams for him now are nothing but a static snow that he can never remember. He can not help sleeping, but he can't do anything to stop O'Malley either. It is supposed to be frustrating for them both — that the hours in which the chaotic personality of O'Malley can act are reduced to barely four of five make a part of his anger directed to his host. That's why he started leaving messages — warnings, to be more precise: bruises, wounds, burns. He began with small things and eventually he leveled up. Last night his despair must have reached its summit, since Doc has never woken up to see someting like that. O'Malley is getting impatient, and Doc doesn't know how many more nights he will be able to handle it.

O'Malley is not an idiot — he knows that what he can do to him will not hurt half of anything he ever does to Donut. He is just testing his nerves, seeing how far he can go, so that then, when Doc falls apart and surrenders to him completely, O'Malley can laugh at him, mock him, call him a fool. And Doc would deserve every damn word.

That day the anxiety, the dizziness, the hole in his stomach, the uncertainty and the pain makes it very difficult for Doc to sleep, but finally he gives up.

And that day, for the first time in years, O'Malley talks to him.

_"Wake up, DuFresne."_

_Doc opens his eyes, and immediately shuts them close because the sun is on him, warming his skin, the wind lulling his umber hair, the cool grass of Valhalla under his fingers. And suddenly, when he is about to fill his lungs with the pure air, a shadow hovering over him and a foot on his throat._

_He half-open his eyes to look at O'Malley. It's like looking at his reflection in a mirror, a mirror that makes you a thousand times more sinister and sadic. He tries to take a little weigh off with his hands, but that only makes O'Malley put on more pressure and actually start choking him._

_"Would you look at that!" he exclaims with joy. "You are a tougher fool than you looked; I understimated you."_

_"S-stop..."_

_"What was that?" O'Malley blinks with faked surprise and leans in to put a hand near his ear, adding even more pressure. "Complete sentences, please."_

_It is hard when blood can't reach your head. Doc ignores if it's possible to die in these dream escapes o which damage would that do to his physical body (or wether it would do any damage at all), but he is not keen on finding out._

_"Let me breathe," he mutters in a thread of voice._

_O'Malley gives a satisfied hum as he removes his foot from Doc's throat. He sits on the grass, coughing and gasping for air. "See how easy things are when we both do our part?"_

_Doc says nothing. He doesn't know what to say. He is still recovering air with his eyes fixed on the ground, and decides to let him talk for now._

_"Why do you insist on complicating things so suddenly? We were working just fine, we had plans, DuFresne!"_

_"_ You _had plans," Doc snaps both his head and his voice. "_ I _was never part of them, and I'm sick of being a puppet." O'Malley narrows his eyes at him; Doc didn't know he could do such a menacing look. He should try it sometime. "I have plans, too."_

_"Oh, and may I know which plans are those?" wonders O'Malley with strong sarcasm. "Keeping up your pathetic career as a worthless medic, perhaps? Or following those idiotic red and blue fools like a lapdog until they forget you again?"_

_"They are not— I—"_

_"Open your eyes, DuFresne," he hisses slowly. "You mean_ nothing _to them."_

_Doc opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. O'Malley notices the gesture, and he tilts his head, as if to get a better angle of his reflection's ineffable expression. He understands, however. He knows exactly what DuFresne is thinking in every moment._

_"And the pink one, Donut," he goes on, consequently. "You may think he is any different, but he is not. I hope you treasure well those happy memories of you two, becaue when —and I said_ when _— he ditches you, that is the only thing you will have left. How foolish of you, thinking you had any chance."_

_"Then what am I supposed to do?!"_

_O'Malley seems surprised, and a bit taken aback, by this sudden change of attitude, but not as much as Doc himself is. He swallows heavily, and tries not to tremble with fear while keeping the nerve on his eyes (the way O'Malley does)._

_"You keep talking about what I'm doing wrong but I don't hear any solutions!"_

_O'Malley laughs from the dephts of his throat and crouches down to be at the same level as Doc. He is sweating, and much to his regret trembling, and his shadow's smirk gives him the worst kind of chills._

_"Leave this godforsaken place," he says. Doc has never heard someone being so sure of their words. Not even his mother when he said «it's not your fault» on his brother's funeral sounded half as convinced. "It is that easy."_

_No, it is not._

_"But I— I don't... I can't leave."_

_O'Malley drops his head to the ground. Still, he is deeply chuckling. "Yes," he sighs. "I know you can't."_

 

 

Doc wakes up without any new pain. Just the constant, raging, stinging and yet numb pain on his more than sure broken hand.

According to his clock that follows Earth's time, it's 6 A.M. Donut is not up yet, but going back to sleep is not even an option. He could read a book or go out for a walk, if it weren't because his mind is too foggy to comprehend what is he reading and he doesn't want to have anythng else to do but think.

In the end he goes out to check on their orchard. Honestly, they didn't even know what is that they planted, they just took the seeds they found on the red base. They ended up having tomatos, red peppers and red onions — now that they think about it, it's logical that Sarge didn't allow seeds of a no-red vegetable in his base. Lopez's deedless body is still where they left him, watching the harvest for birds they have taken too long to discover are nonexistent in this planet. If Doc had the slightest knowledge about robotics, he would try and do something to reactivate it. Donut tried once, but he did more harm than good. Maybe when the others return they will be able to fix him.

When the others return...

"Frank!"

Donut's voice calling his name will never cease to startle him. It's not because of him, it's just it's been so long since anyone calls him by his real name... It almost sounds strange. But with each time Donut says it, it becomes a little more natural, as it should never have stopped being.

Doc turns around to look at him. Nowadays they only wear their civvies; Donut still enjoys the color pink— lightish red in all of his clothes, while Doc barely gets out of the rage of greys comfort zone.

"Donut, you should be resting," Doc says sternly. "What are you doing so early?"

Donut's grin is infectious as he walks to him, sticking his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. "It's just I woke up coughing and I thought a walk might be good for it." His eyes go wide as an idea crosses his mind. "Want to join me?"

"Sure." Doc pulls out a similar smile, but not as genuine. Maybe the walk will be good for both of them. The fresh air will cool his thoughts.

Doc advises Donut for his own sake to take it easy, to walk slowly. Donut takes that as an invitation to hold his unbandaged hand and lean into his arm, and of course Doc has not the strength (nor the desire) to prevent it. Instead, he appreciates the soft touch and Donut's peach essence as they ponderously stroll. This is one of the memories O'Malley told him to treasure, and Doc hates to agree with him especially in such a thing.

They have been walking for several minutes now, sunk into a nice and comfortable silence, when Donut sighs contentedly and presses his cheek (the unscarred one) against the brunette's shoulder.

"This is nice," he says. "It reminds me of home."

"It does?"

"Yeah. I was raised in a farm."

Doc can't help but laugh at that. "That is _so_ you."

"Oh, shut up." He gives his hand a little amused squeeze. "I used to go on walks like this with my mother. Mother _s_ in plural." That also suits him, really. "Did you know none of them is my biological mother?"

"Does that really matter?" Doc wonders outloud.

"Duh, it does," Donut scoffs as he rolls his eyes, as if the medic was supposed to understand what he means. "Both of them were so perceptive; they always knew when something was wrong. I—" He interrupts himself in order to cough twice. "I didn't exactly fit with the other kids at school, and they knew it. And you know what Mom always said about that?" Doc does not reply, only shrugs as a sign of curiosity. " _Screw 'em, it's just school._ "

Doc laughs and looks at Donut with skeptical eyes, while he looks back with helpless ones.

"No, no, she was right!" he continues while giggling. "Then I got to Blood Gulch, and I met Grif and Simmons and Sarge and everyone else and..." He gives his hand another squeeze; this time it lingers. "Well, I met you. I think that's enough for me."

Eventually, they slow down their pace. Today the clouds are thicker than usual, and their shadows run through Valhalla, obscuring everything in its path. Today the wind blows with enthusiasm. Looks like a storm is coming.

They are near the Red base. If they go up, they will see the missing fragment on the wall, the one on which Doc was stuck several days — the one on which Simmons left him at the expense of the Meta. From that place, he could see Donut, which they had just given for dead. It wasn't until he was in the desert when he had the minimal peace of mind he needed to wonder if he could have done something if he had arrived sooner. Maybe that's the reason he came back, his remorse forced him.

"Donut?"

"Yeah?"

"I..." He takes a deep breath. "When the others come back, I won't be joining you."

"What?" Donut pulls away to look into his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

His expression is somewhere between surprise and dissapointment. "Why?"

"It's just... I..."

Donut is right.

Why?

"I have made up my mind."

The blonde man inhales sharply as he grabs the medic's wrist, frustrating his attempt of moving on. "Did you? Or was it O'Malley?" he spits. Doc clenches, his breath caught on his throat. "I know you have been dealing with him on your sleep, a-and I don't know you don't want to talk about it but... but I also know you can't fight him on your own." At this point, his voice is nothing more than a whisper, barely audible against the wind. "You need help, and I want to help, if you just let me—"

"Not every personal choice I make has to do with O'Malley," too late, Doc replicates.

"And what is it about, then? I thought you wanted to come with us."

"Maybe that's the problem!" Doc throws his hands up and turns his back to him. "You all assume I'm perfectly fine with whatever happens, but even _I_ have some principles! Last time I saw the others they were off to kill a man! Did they really think I was up to that?!"

"Look, Frank," Donut tries to put a hand on him, but Doc walks away before it happens, "they left me here, too. I-I understand how you feel."

"No, Donut, you don't." His voice is quivering, and sharp, and resentful, and miserable everything at once. "The only one who understands me is—" He pulls back and bites his tongue right away. He glances over his shoulder. Donut is looking at him wide-eyed. He wants to say something unnameable as well, but he can't bring himself to open his mouth. They hold their gazes until Doc looks forward, suddenly remembering how to breath. "Don't... uh... don't stay out here for too long," he murmurs. Probably Donut has not heard him because of the distant thunder. "A storm is coming."

Doc walks slowly towards the house they both share. Donut doesn't chase after him; which is fine, because he didn't expect him to.

 

 

_The sky in Valhalla is cloudy and dark, and the wind is nothing but a breeze._

_"DuFresne! It's always a pleasure to see—"_

_Doc reacts with a punch. Punching himself is a weird feeling (well, in his case, plainly punching is a weird feeling), and is an irrational act the mere voice of O'Malley has triggered. He doesn't even regret it, even though he has used his bandaged hand and it hurts as hell. In fact, just the sight of O'Malley chuckling on the ground makes him want to do it again._

_"That's new," he says, palpating his injured cheek. "I thought you were a pacifist."_

_"I am. That's the only reason I'm not still beating you up."_

_"And well?" He looks up with bored eyes. "Are you ready to leave this place forever? Have you packed your suitcase?"_

_"What? No!" Doc shrieks._

_"No?" O'Malley repeats incredulously. "And what are you waiting for?"_

_"I'm not going anywhere!" He clears his throat and crosses his arms. "Yet."_

_"Are you telling me this sudden, violent rage is not because you hate the fact that I was right all along?" O'Malley asks ironically, as if Doc was supposed to disagree with him; but he does not answer. Heck if he knows where this sudden, violent rage comes from. O'Malley grumbles some swearing under his breath as he stands up and crosses his arms in a more strained way. "If he were somebody else, we would not have this problem now. What is so special about that Donut?"_

_Doc grimaces; he thought O'Malley was smart enough to realize how stupid that question is. "He doesn't call me a fool every twenty sconds, for starters." He waits for his reaction, which is a simple roll of eyes. "But Donut is something else. He is kind — he may be the kindest person I've spoken to in years, and he is sweet and cheerful, and strong, smart, and caring, and... basically all the things I've always starved." He pauses for a moment. O'Malley is waiting something else, something relevant, and Doc notices his growing impatience embarrassingly late, looking at him with round eyes. "I need to make some changes in my life," he states; "Donut is one of them. And you are another."_

_"_ Me? _Don't make me laugh!" And yet, O'Malley roars with laughter. "_ I _am the only reason you are minimally respected. What do you think you will become without me?"_

_"Well," Doc shrugs helplessly, "guess I'll have to wait and see."_

 

 

The storm on its greatest splendour is over Valhalla now. A row of scandalous thunders pull Doc out of his dream, which was about to end, anyways. He doesn't know how much he has been out, it feels like days. His head is heavy and light at the same time just as the rest of his body.

He tries to assimilate the silence. There is never silence on rainy days; well, aside of the rain and the thunders, it is when Donut makes a mess of the house with his habit of cleaning when it rains. However, he has not heard anything shattering against the floor yet.

Doc wants to see him, wants to talk to him, but to say what, exactly? Sorry I acted like a jerk but I'm taking too long to find out what is that I want and how do I feel? I don't want to leave you, but I don't want to be the guy people always forget about again? I'm an idiot and I only make poor decisions? I probably should give back my therapist title? Any of those four options seem to fit very well with him.

But Donut is not home.

He must not have returned from his walk yet.

Wandering alone, under the storm, under the freezing rain, against the hurricane wind, wearing no armor, in a weak recovery status.

The weather is much worse than his most horrible thoughts venture when he runs out to search Donut. The cold is numbing, the drops of water against his glasses make it hard to watch his step —he trips several times with rocks and wet puddles—, and he can't hear his voice over the blood rushing through his head and ears. Running like this really makes you appreciate the armors Doc used to dislike so much before.

Donut is not on the Red base, where he had left before, nor in the Blue base. He checks inside and outside.

He is not anywhere.

He searches over and over, still he doesn't find anything.

The rational voice on his head tells him to go back and wait for the storm to ease is the best he can do for now, and the irrational voice keeps telling him that by the time the storm is over, it will be too late. He doesn't want to be late again.

So he searches once more.

Maybe he has missed a nook.

He goes back to find it.

Perhaps Donut has been moving as well, and they have not bumped into each other yet.

He goes through Valhalla again.

The despair takes over him and he feels obliged to look one last time before going back and taking shelter from the rain.

His feet are heavy, his arms and head as well, as he slowly walks back home. He stops only a second to take a quick look at the harvest, which most likely will not survive the storm. Well, bad luck.

He despises himself, he hates himself. Surely not even O'Malley would have left Donut in the middle of this storm. He is a better excuse of a human being than Doc has ever been. Giving up and let him do whatever he wants may be the best thing.

He slams the door behind him. He is about to shout, cry, and go outside to break the fragments of his broken hand punching Lopez's body, which will soon rust as scrap metal.

"Frank!"

Doc's heart skips a few beats, his blood freezes, his body trembles and his haze of a mind turns seemingly clear figures into smudges.

Donut cames out of his own room. His blonde hair is a disaster, and his eyes, tired and swollen in a way that punches Doc in the guts, look at him uncharacteristically shaken, unsure to know if he should come closer or not.

"Donut." Doc's voice is raspy. His throat is so dry just the attempt of speaking hurts. "Where— where have you...?"

"I came back as soon as the first drops fell," he replies, although his head is not fully in his word, but on the shivering, soaked and exhausted man before him. "I wanted to talk to you, but you were sleeping and— and I didn't want to bother." He shakes his head slowly in a poor effort of relieving tension with his compassive chuckle. "I must have fallen asleep, too."

"Donut, I—"

"Wait," Donut cuts him off as he walks to him. It's a good thing, actually; Doc is not really sure of what he was going to say. "Frank, I'm so sorry. I just— I didn't mean— I wanted to—" He takes a deep breath, the way Doc taught him to, and sighs everything off. "I really want you to be happy, Frank, and I also want to be with you, but if those two things are not compatible... well, I will support you whatever you do. And above all, I will wait for you." He smiles warmly at the brunette and places his hands on both sides of his neck. Donut's warm skin against his damp by the rain gives him goosebumps. "Because, Frank, I—"

"I love you too."

A thunder fills the silence between his words and what happens next. Donut closes the distance between them and presses their lips together; his first reaction is to pull away of Doc's cold lips, but soon he returns to them with more eagerness, more intensity, determined to heat them up. His hands travel up from Doc's neck to his wet, curly hair and pulls him closer. Doc is soaked, and freezing cold, and trembling for both of those things as well as for the bliss of the moment. He circles Donut's waist with his arms, losing himself into his touch, his smell, his taste. He could stay like this forever; and how is he going to leave such a new, overwhelming feeling behind?

The kiss is over too soon and too abruptly. Donut rests his forehead into Doc's shoulder as he coughs violently, his grip on brown hair clenching. Doc rubs his back on circles as he whispers «breathe» to his ear repeatedly.

Eventually the coughing stops, and he rests while trying to catch his breath, heavy and yet calm, for a few seconds. Almost a minute.

"Because I love you," he murmurs with his muffled voice. He raises his head just enough to peck the corner of Doc's lips, which twich upwards at the contact. "So, what are we going to do?" he asks wearily.

"I don't know," goes the constant reply of Doc, but this time it doesn't sound as tired and exasperated as usual; now he is even grinning, nuzzling Donut's blonde, frizzy hair. "Not everything is black or white or— or red or blue." He shrugs slightly.

"So, I guess we will just have to wait and see what happens."

Doc hums in approval. It's simple as that. Why has he taken so long to realize?

He doesn't know what is going to happen, or if he is going to be alright, but he doesn't need to know, as long as he has someone waiting for him. That's enough.

 


End file.
